Observer
The key person – he or she – is the one not visible in the paintings. They stand somewhere close by, at the edge of the world, looking at the naked bodies, the abandoned people, the sadness or the last moments of joy. They are calm, they have time, they’re not in a hurry. They can afford silence, not speaking, a moment of reflection. They can afford the time to take in what they see, as if they fed off it, as if they got joy from it.
That person is you.
Long Vacation
You look at the man lying with his arms outstretched in the shape of a cross. Is it a punishment for his sins? But is it really a man? Maybe it’s a woman. Maybe a child. You look then at this person with arms spread wide, back bathed in the delicate sunshine and face pressed into the grass, still wet from the recent rain. Nearby is an RV. One of those huge ones, a real monster, a home on four wheels. Circus performers and rockstars on travel in trailers like this. And in the case of the latter, the trailer somehow holds the band, the crew and all the groupies that will fit. Or one of those that you take on a family cross-country road trip. But here, this person is lying prostrate alone. There is no one nearby. Where are their loved ones? Are they hiding in the trailer, afraid to stick their noses out? They only peek outside the window every now and then, watching you as you watch the prostrate figure. The difference between you and them is that you’re not afraid. You stand tall, visible from afar, proud of what you’re doing, while they cower in fear, like small animals, like meerkats, only checking from time to time if the danger has passed. But you’re still here.
Or maybe they’re not there at all? Maybe they fled a long time ago into the great, dark and frightening forest? In the hopes that maybe they will be safer there – safe from your gaze.
Night Game
A young girl is coming back playing, a bounce in her step. It’s a bit like she’s playing hopscotch, a bit like she’s walking a tightrope. All of the surroundings are drowning in a bright, bloody red light. One might think the sun was setting, but no, it’s been a long time since sunset. The lights in the houses are all lit. It’s not the sun, then, but the glow of a nearby fire. The girl merrily skips in its light. You can’t see her face, but her whole body is joyously laughing, as if the girl were having the greatest fun. She’s accompanied by a half-shadow, half-cloud of smoke – the maw of a beast. Hanging over her shoulder, with huge fangs in a mouth so large that it could swallow the girl whole. But she doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to it. Focused on her next step and the delightful heat of the flames on her skin.
Tonight, you’ve only met one creature more dangerous than yourself. And that’s the beautiful, dancing girl.
Summer Vacation
You’re really curious. One could say unhealthily so. What does she see there, in the darkness from which she emerged? The young woman in a flowing summer dress. Only a few hours ago, she was laughing, joking with friends, merrily dancing. Now she’s rushing ahead. She’s lost her shoes somewhere. In her hand, she holds the remnants of a bag. She glances behind her into the darkness, looking for the thing or person that forced her to flee. You can almost feel her relief at running into the circle of light. She’s certain that whatever is there will not dare to show its face to the world, so she thinks she’s safe.
But she doesn’t know that she’s running straight towards you.
Night Walk
Two boys on a dirt road, under a lantern, in the middle of nowhere. You can only wonder where they came from. Did they come alone? Did someone drop them off and leave? They don’t seem to be concerned with their situation. They’re standing in the cone of light as if it was their small private stage. As if they wanted to remain visible. You prefer to remain in the shadow, like part of an audience during a theatrical performance. What are they doing? Maybe they’re playing, repeating complicated figures after one another. Maybe they’re looking for something. Or maybe one of them is so tired that he only dreams of lying down and falling asleep.
In the distance on the left, you can see two blurry objects. You think that you can make out human figures in that darkness. Two terrible shadows, heading for the boys. But maybe your eyes are playing tricks on you? Just in case, you’ll stay a while longer in your seat in the audience. You’ll wait patiently. And if nothing happens, you’ll take to the stage, stand in the light, and play with the boys.
On the Shore
In the summer, you can’t get the kids out of the water. And if you manage, it’s only for a little while. They come out to rest, warm themselves in the sun, and then they go back in the sea, lake, pool or river, as if it were their natural habitat, as if they were about to sprout fins, scales and gills. Reverse evolution, or perhaps a longing for old times. Ancient ancestors’ desire written in our genes.
The boy has spent all day in the water. Now he’s come on shore. His skin is pale and wrinkled. Water drops glisten on it. Dusk is falling and the boy is wondering whether he can manage to swim one more time. He carefully looks towards the nearby home. A light is on in the kitchen. His mother is making him dinner. Simple sandwiches and a cup of hot cocoa. Soon, she’ll come outside and call her son in. But the boy will not hear her. All that will be left of him will be an impression in the sand where he was sitting not long ago.
The Bathers
Bathtime! What an innately intimate process! And what a sweet picture, two children bathing together! How delightful and innocent! But they are not children anymore. She and he. Both naked. She kneels on the ground, trying to lift him up. Which of course is terribly difficult, because he is heavy, and she is already weak. Bathtime! So they sit on the dirty sidewalk in front of the pretty white fence set in front of the pretty white house, where a light burns in a window. Bathtime! The shout comes from the house. And it’s the voice of someone who believes that bathing not only cleanses you of dirt, but also sin. Bathtime! The shout comes again. And for the first time, you realise that these two are not trying to get to the house at all but are fleeing from it. From this small pretty white house with a bathroom inside. You don’t think things bode well for them. Bathtime! Oh, how curious, what awaits them in the bathtub!
The Examiner
She stands in the circle defined by the light of the street lamp as if in a petri dish. Slightly bent over, as if trying to prove that she can touch her toes with her fingertips. Or perhaps crushed by memories. She’s dressed in a knee-length white hospital robe. For a moment, you think that you’re looking at an exhibit. But you quickly understand your error. An exhibit is something put on display to be admired. Look, but don’t touch. It’s different here. You can touch, after all. And even more than touch. Because this is not an exhibit, but an experimental object, which has yet to prove its worth. So you rub your hands together and get to work. The exam is about to begin.
The Prowl
The girl looks at the cat. As little girls usually do when they see cats. Meanwhile, the cat pays her no attention. It’s completely absorbed in the hunt. It’s all tense. Focused on the small mouse that has probably not sensed its presence and is going about its mousey business, while the predator is getting ready to leap, to sink its fangs and claws in its delicate body. To feel its fear and blood under its tongue. And there is nothing wrong with that. No sin at all. That’s just the way the world is. There are predators, and there are victims. It is this primal show that the little girl is watching, although she doesn’t understand what she is witnessing. She doesn’t know that this is the last act, and the hunter is about to bring its hunt to a bloody end. She’s innocent like that. So keep watching the kitty, little girl. Keep watching it, you pretty little mouse.
Under the Lantern
Streetlights were made to give light because light gives a sense of safety. It doesn’t so much dispel as destroy the dark of night. It’s a lesson we’ve learned from thousands, millions of years of our existence. Something that runs deep in our genes. The choice of light, the desire for light is as natural as the desire to breath. So why is this woman looking so curiously into the dark? Why is she leaning in that direction? What does she see there? What tempts her there? Why, instead of standing politely in full view, does she prefer to hide in the darkness? Maybe she can feel your gaze on her? Maybe she knows you’re here, watching, observing. Maybe she’s figured you out.
In a moment, she’ll disappear in the dark and you’ll never see her again. Because she would rather be in the stifling darkness than stand in the light, exposed to your gaze.
